


covered in the colours

by smokesque



Series: Klance Week 2016 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Klanceweek2k16, M/M, Red/Blue - Freeform, back at it with the angst ayy, based on a halsey song, i didn't get any better at tagging since last time, listen i wrote that one happy thing, you should be grateful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokesque/pseuds/smokesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith’s voice is laced with the blue from Lance’s irises and water drips through the cracks. Lance overflows with everything Keith pours into him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	covered in the colours

**Author's Note:**

> based on ['colors'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGulAZnnTKA) by halsey.
> 
> first prompt for klance week was red/blue (i'm not sure if i'll write for the other days because i'm so unprepared lmao)
> 
> you can read this on my [tumblr](http://ailourophilic.tumblr.com/post/148442806437/so-i-wrote-a-pretty-terrible-little-thing-for) and find out more about klance week [here](http://klanceweek.tumblr.com/).

_You were red_

Lance’s fingers are cloaked in red, the material spilling over his clenched fist. He can feel Keith’s chest rise and fall at the speed of a train under the arm that pins Keith to the wall and all he can see is red, red, red.

He feels anger surfacing in his chest. It claws at his ribcage and forces its way into his thoughts. It cloaks his brain in red and drowns out everything else and wraps its hand around his throat, choking until red is the only thing he knows. Every time Keith’s breath hits Lance’s neck he feels the red creep a little further in.

Keith’s cheek is red for two days after Lance slaps him. Lance refuses to feel bad. Red lurks at the edge of his vision.

_You liked me because I was blue_

Keith traces the soft pads of his fingertips across Lance’s skin and hairs stand on end in the wake of his touch. Lance rolls his back into the touch but Keith keeps it feather-light and teasing. His fingertips are kindling against Lance’s body and his voice is the match that sets Lance on fire.

He whispers secrets like fuel, keeping the flames alight, and the words turn to nothing in the jumble of Lance’s brain. Blue eyes, blue sky, blue ocean, blue heart. Lance doesn’t know where they come from or what they mean any more. Blue. Blue. Blue. Keith’s voice is laced with the blue from Lance’s irises and water drips through the cracks. Lance overflows with everything Keith pours into him.

Lance’s hips are blue for two days after Keith digs his fingertips in hard enough to bruise. Keith refuses to look at him. Lance feels blue seep away in the gap between their shoulders.

_But you touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky_

Lance floats on a cloud the colour of the lilacs in his parents’ front garden for days after the first night. He loses his breath over the breakfast table and doesn’t notice until he’s back in his bunk, far too empty without another body pressed to his.

He bruises in purples, drops of paint littering his collarbone and bringing out the shine in his eyes. The smell of Keith runs in circles across the palm of his hand and his chest constricts, reds and blues twining together into the messy palette of a five year old artist.

Lance holds the memories of the first night like a bunch of flowers and the stems wind around his wrists, holding him in place, holding him close. He’s warm inside and all over and the lilac cloud wraps him gently in its open arms. Purple is Lance’s favourite colour.

_And you decided purple just wasn’t for you_

It hurts, more than Lance thinks it should, to have his chest opened up and doused with water. He watches the colours run away in rainbow streaks, down his stomach and legs. They stain along the way, marking Lance as their own but never paying for the crimes they have committed. Lance is filled up with black (in the empty space outside his window / in the darkness of his unlit room / in the sleepless nights painted under his eyes) and it catches his throat in an iron grip until he forgets what it feels like to breathe.

Keith’s words spin cobwebs in the corners of Lance’s mind. They grow so thick Lance struggles to see past them, ripping them away only to find them stuck to his skin and under his fingernails. Red slips away from the edge of his vision as anger ebbs into hurt. For the first time, blue spills from his eyes in the form of tears and he wipes them on the edge of his shirt until all his colour is gone.

Lance moves, thinks, breathes in black and white like the newspapers his father used to read. He slowly drifts away from himself until he becomes just that; ink on paper, bruise on skin, black on white.


End file.
